


Broken Blade, Unbreakable Spirit

by PorntiusPilate



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Character Development, F/M, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, That Awaken Video Though, They'd Totally Bang, Time Skips, Yes Konte's Her Real Name, porn with (some) plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorntiusPilate/pseuds/PorntiusPilate
Summary: What's Draven thinking of when he sees Riven enter the arena in the Awaken video? Turns out it's about that time they boned.





	Broken Blade, Unbreakable Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one shot while sleep deprived so there will be more than a few errors, but it came out pretty good. As per usual, something something comment KAY THANKS

Broken Blade, Unbreakable Spirit

Sex.

Sex, for Draven at least, means nothing.

Sex is nothing more than a physical release of tension; no feeling, no emotion, and even then an inefficient one. If Draven wanted to exert power and dominance over someone, he could simply order their execution on the grounds that anyone who denied him would face the same end. If he wanted to feel a connection to someone, he could fight and slaughter them in the great Noxian Colosseum. If he wanted sexual gratification, the adoring cheers of his subjects as he ripped his axes from the still-twitching corpse of his opponents was plenty. There is simply nothing sex can do for Draven that killing a worthy opponent didn't give ten times over. At least, that's how it is now.

Draven had always preferred a healthy dose of murder as his carnal pleasure of choice, but there was one person who had made sex... fun. Even the thought of her from his youth made him have to shift his legs in his seat, his leggings growing tight. She was beautiful in her ferocity, graceful in her mercilessness. With a single swing of her massive runeblade, she could separate the heads of four hapless enemies, their voices cut short and lifeblood spurting through the air, and already be swinging again before their bodies hit the ground. She was a whirling dervish of horrific death, one of the greatest Noxian soldiers the young prince had ever met. A talented and blooded warrior in his own right, Draven had to fight to keep up with her, his axes sailing through the sky, blunted backs crushing skulls and bladed hooks rending flesh as if made of slightly thicker air.

Draven feels a smirk come to his face as he remembers the night after the battle. Intrigued and rock hard, he had sent a simple letter to her camp: “The Prince demands your presence.” An hour later, a different courier returned with an even simpler message: the severed hand of his courier, a note scrawled on the back of his bloodstained letter, reading simply “No.” Grinning ear to ear, Draven decided he would have to come to her. She'd have to be punished for her hubris.

She had not been punished that night. When Draven had arrived at the tent of Konte, the one he had been so infatuated with, she responded by looking him up and down with a dismissive frown, thoroughly unimpressed. Draven was taken aback by this – if his brother's machinations came to fruition, he would one day lead Noxus itself. He could have any woman he wanted, who did this soldier Konte think she was, looking at him like an impetuous child?

“I see you got my love letter,” he growled, grinning wide with a hand on his hip.

“I see you ignored my reply,” Konte replied, stepping towards him. “Go on back to your hole, little 'Prince.'” She continued her path, her shoulder colliding with his with enough force to send him stumbling aside, though she barely flinched. Draven ignored the jeering laughs of the soldiers around him, turning to face Konte's back.

“I could have you put to death for speaking to me like that, soldier,” he said, his eyes flashing dangerously, his wide grin not quite as wide as before.

Konte scoffed. “I'll kill anyone you send to do it,” she said, waiving a hand over her shoulder as if to brush aside an annoying fly.

Draven responded immediately, reaching towards a nearby solider and ripping his blade from the scabbard. “I never send anyone to have my fun for me,” he growled, his grin back to full size once more. At this, Konte paused, looking over her shoulder at the impetuous young prince.

“That's not exactly fair. When I kill you, your brother will have me killed, too,” she said, still not turning around to face him, but looking over her shoulder quite intently.

“The Noxian way is the strong survive,” Draven said, pointing the sword at her back. “You men! If I die, see to it my brother knows it was my own doing. Not a hair on her head is to be harmed.” Konte finally turned to face him now, and she too was smiling. “If you live though, soldier... You come with me to my tent.”

Konte scoffed again, ripping a saber from the belt of another soldier. The warriors quickly formed a wide circle around the two of them, shouting and jeering, most of them for Konte. Gripping the blade in her hand, she smirked at the young prince, saying, “You heard him, men. He's dead by his own hands.” Before Draven could say a word, she had lunged forward, slapping his longsword aside with the flat of her blade and getting in his guard, burying the pommel of the saber into his face and sending him reeling back. Draven could feel a line of hot red blood drip from the cut on his forehead, his thick skull the only thing keeping that from being a killing blow by itself. As the prince whirled to face her once more, he found she had stepped low, under his guard this time, and the blade was already singing up towards his ribs, intent on cutting him in half.

Using his higher position and quick reflexes to his advantage, he took a half step forward into the blow, the blade catching him near the guard of the weapon and biting only shallowly into his flesh. He struck out immediately with his boot, catching her in the chest just below her throat, inches from shattering her windpipe, and sending her sprawling back, coughing hard as she rose to her feet. Draven smirked, spinning the sword effortlessly in his hand, giving her a moment to rise to her feet.

“Making me work for it, huh?” She managed, fingertips gently touching her collar bone. It was already starting to bruise, and was more than likely slightly broken. “That was a hell of a kick.”

“Yeah, you're no pushover yourself,” Draven began, but as he opened his mouth to continue the banter, Konte dug her sword into the dirt and flung it directly into his face. Draven reacted quickly and ducked under the muck, but caught a knee to the chest that sent him reeling back and landing on his ass. He rolled aside as the saber dug into the ground where his chest was, his leg striking out and sweeping her off her feet. They were both back on their feet in a blink, his fist catching her in the stomach as her head collided with his face again, blood from his earlier cut smearing her face as he stumbled back again. He half expected to see her rushing him again as he wiped his blood from his eyes, but he had bled so much she had needed to do the same.

“Lets get this over with already,” Konte said, cocking her sword arm back and crouching low, ready to spring out at a moments notice.

“Your night's just getting started. You still have to come back to my tent,” he replied with a laugh, taking initiative by leaping into the air with his sword raised. She moved to block him, and the sound of shattering steel rang through the camp, silencing conversation for nearly a mile. Both their blades had all but exploded at the force of the collision, pelting onlookers with shrapnel and leaving the two of them unsatisfied. The two warriors met each others gazes, those in the audience not groaning with pain or bleeding to death struck silent.

Draven spoke first. “What happens in the event of a tie?”

Konte thought a moment, looking away from the bleeding prince and at the ruined sword in her hand. Looking back up at Draven, she shrugged. “My tent?”

Draven woke up that next morning, sore from more than just their fight. His bite marks throbbed, even newer wounds still bled, and sun shone down on them from a new hole that had been torn in the roof of Konte's tent. Glancing over from his place on the floor, Konte's scarred back faced him, ugly red parallel lines crossing her olive skin with a line of dried blood from a healing bite wound on her shoulder. Sensing his gaze, she stirred, looking over her shoulder at him with a half-awake glance. She must have read his mind, because she rolled her eyes. “If you can get it up this time,” she said, rolling on top of him in one fluid motion.

He could indeed get it up, she found as she slid over him, cooing softly as she settled herself upon him, back arching and chin lifting to reveal the ugly black and blue bruise he had left just below her throat. Her fingers dug into his taught chest, nails digging into his flesh, his skin on fire again as she rolled her strong hips over him. He met her movements, flexing his hips as he rose up in time with her rolls. Propping himself up on one elbow, muscles screaming for rest, he took one of her breasts in his hand, giving the other a sharp bite. She sucked a deep breath in and gouged her nails into his shoulders this time, her muscled walls tensing around him as he bucked beneath her.

They were both too weak to abuse each other more than they already had, so for the first time they had to resort to simply fucking each other. They met each motion the other made with its perfect match, complimenting the other perfectly. As Konte's legs started to ache, Draven took charge and flipped them over, pressing her into the ground. When that grew stale, she rolled onto her belly and lifted her hips. Her teeth bit into the already ruined bedroll, wanton cries muted as she rode out her most recent wave of pleasure. It didn't take long for Draven to follow her, his hot seed landing on her back in a few disappointing spurts. Konte wasn't the only one who was completely spent.

*** * ***

With a sigh and another shift of his posture, Draven returned his attention to the fight in the Colosseum before him. His brother and their crippled leader Swain had gone off to fight another war in Ionia, leaving Draven at the capital with the biggest case of blue balls he had ever been cursed by, and his wandering mind had only made it worse. Bored out of his skull, Draven had organized a tournament of sorts with the Noxian prisoners of war. The rules were simple: Live, and you get out of the prisons via conscription into the Noxian military. Lose, and well... you don't.

But this was all just so, _so_ boring. The prisoners turned gladiators fought and spilled blood and tried to play to the crowd, but none of them stood out in the least. Not a single one of them would last in a fight with himself or Konte. _Especially_ not Konte. But that didn't matter anymore, since she had, according to reports, either been killed in an Ionian raid, or survived and fled. Either way, she was good as dead, and he'd never get his rocks off like that again. He had broken more than his fair share of playthings trying, but he never found that feeling again. The only thing he had left of hers was the shattered remains of her runeblade, the massive sword recovered from the Ionian campaign and reduced to nothing more than a shard of metal with a handle attached to it. He had stolen it from the emperor's personal treasury.

One of the prisoners raised a cry as he slew the final opponent for his round, his blade still sticking in his fellow's chest. They had come from the same batch of prisoners, had known each other. But not even that delicious tragedy interested Draven, who lazily spun a ringknife on his forefinger, sighing heavily as the prisoner waved for his attention. Not that it mattered; the next group of fighters would show up, would slaughter the winner before he could be let out of the cage, and the next round would begin, just like before. None of the prisoners would be getting out as promised, of course. But freedom was enticing bait after the dungeons of the capital.

Draven twirled the knife twice more, watching it swish with mindless boredom, when a gasp from the crowd caught his attention. He looked into the pit and saw a new challenger, a white-haired woman, effortlessly dispatch her six opponents, breaking ones neck with the very chains that held her to a stake in the middle of the arena. Draven blinked as he watched the newcomer kill the last one. Her back was scarred, and though malnourished, she was still muscled and strong. She wore nothing but peasant's wrappings over her body, but managed to keep herself covered all the same. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes blackened with some dark marking, her eyes blazing with fury and hate. Draven's member twitched in remembrance.

_Konte._

Wasting no time, Draven slammed the dagger into the arm of his throne, reaching behind him for the shattered remains of Konte's runeblade. He would not waste the chance to fight and kill her this time. He threw the blade at her as he leaped down from his high box, the crowd roaring and chanting his name. With a knowing glare, Konte took up her broken sword, and with a single slash, broke the chains weighing her down.

Draven laughed, spinning his immaculate axes in dangerous circles beside him, one in each hand. “You know Konte, when I heard you were dead, I was so depressed I couldn't kill you I didn't eat for a week!” Konte rolled her right shoulder, popping her neck and stepping towards him, evoking the image of their first meeting. He could feel his leggings grow tighter at the thought. Wasting no time, he threw one spinning axe, then the other, running towards her. With little effort she slapped each weapon aside and took a swing at his laughing face, but Draven dropped to his knees, sliding effortlessly beneath her swing and coming to a stop about ten feet behind her. He caught his falling axes with a practiced ease, one in each hand, and started them spinning once more.

“Riven,” was all she said, starting towards him again, no hurry in her pace. She still felt she was stronger than him. His smile faltered, a small look of confusion on his harsh features. She swung again, but this time he deflected the blow, binding her blade with his axe. He opened his mouth to speak, but she lashed out with a headbutt, catching him on the nose with her forehead, forcing him back with a hand to his face. “My name is Riven. Konte is dead.”

Draven grinned once more, wiping a smear of blood from his ruined nose on the back of his hand, spitting out a bit of crimson. Taking his axe in hand, he walked towards her again, blades twirling. “Nice to murder you, Riven.”

As if agreeing to keep the talking to a minimum, no more words were exchanged. None had to be; the two of them were saying all they needed to with each narrowly dodged killing blow and with every brutal kick or punch. Draven stole a maneuver from Riven's own playbook, hooking his axehead into the dirt and kicking a clod of muck at her face, but she easily batted away his thrown attack even through the dust cloud. She returned by giving him a taste of his own medicine, kicking him hard in the side of the knee and sending him crashing to the ground, her blade narrowly missing his throat as he rolled aside. Recovering his axe once more, he looked into her darkened eyes with a frenzied grin, blades spinning. They were going to end this, and this time there would be no draw.

She took position, sword arm cocked back, stance low and ready to react to anything. Draven's left axe flashed, sailing towards her face, forcing her to duck as he leaped high into the air, his second axe raised high for the killing blow, but she was more than fast enough to respond. Bringing her sword up to block, she was confident her runeblade would survive the blow, but she was distracted by the sound of metal whirring through the air behind her. Draven's first axe had not been meant to kill her; it had been meant to bounce off the wall behind her. Just before Draven's strike landed on Riven's blocking blade, his bouncing axe bit into her leg, dropping her to one knee. The killing axe crashed down with a bone-rending blow, a cloud of dust kicked up from the impact.

The crowd was silent. Had their prince died? What happened? The dust slowly cleared as a breeze rolled in, revealing a bloodied but still very much alive Draven, standing over Riven's unconscious body, a shattered axe in his right hand. The crowd erupted in cheers as his guards ran into the ring, weapons raised to finish his work. He stopped them with a single glance.

“Have her wounds treated,” he said under the din of the crowd. “And have her brought to my quarters.”

*** * ***

The sounds of a struggle echoed down the hall to Draven's bedroom. There were no less than seven male voices and a single female one, those of Riven and her apparently numerous guards. When finally the group made it to his chamber doors, the Noxian prince couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Seven of his burliest guards, each outweighing the slender young woman by half, fought to get her through the door, and she seemed to be holding her own. Only by striking her in the abdomen did they stun her long enough to drag her through the threshold, kicking her knees out from under her to drop her down, coughing.

“Did I tell you to harm her, soldier?” Draven asked the man who had struck her in the gut.

“N-no sir, I just thought-” he started, but his thoughts were cut short as a single ringkinfe buried itself to the ring in his skull, the point sticking out the back of his head. He managed a soft gurgle before falling to the floor with a dull _whud_.

“Clean that mess up and leave us.” Draven said, looking only at Riven's crumpled form, fighting for breath.

“But sir,” one of the soldiers started, but he was silenced as a second ringknife appeared in Draven's hand. The six remaining guards wasted no time in dragging the corpse from the room and shutting the door behind them.

Keeping the knife in hand, he approached Riven, who had finally stopped her coughing, and was simply breathing heavily for a moment. He crouched down in front of her and twirled the knife, cocking his head to the side quizzically. She said nothing, so he decided to make the first move.

“Konte-” he started, but the moment her name left his mouth, she was on him. Faster than he had thought possible, she had grabbed the knife and his hand in her own, punched him in the chest and sent him sprawling, mounted him, and was trying to press the knife into his chest. Draven grunted, teeth gritting, as he fought to keep the point away from his heart, the organ beating madly in his chest as blood surged through his veins.

Forcing his muscles to respond, he pushed the tip of the knife off course and into his shoulder, groaning in pain but allowing himself to strike her in the side of the head, dazing her and knocking her off him. Pulling the knife from the shallow wound, he tossed it aside, figuring she'd be as likely to kill him with it as he would her.

“Konte-” he said again, but she cut him off as she rolled to her feet.

“-Is dead!” She glared at him and stood tall, back straight despite the obvious pain. She looked him in the eye, all fury and seething hatred in her gaze. Draven sighed, disappointed.

“Riven, then,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You know, Riven, I'm sorry to see you like this. You used to be full of such...” He trails off, searching for the word as his hands ball into fists before him, as if flexing his muscles could find it for him. “Such... Fire. But now?” he relaxes his hands, gesturing to her as if she were an obvious forgery of a priceless artifact. “Now, you're just-” But she cut him off again

“You don't get to tell me what I am, Draven,” Her voice was low, dangerous. She glanced at the window behind him, but they both knew it was much too far and much too high to be a worth-while escape rout. She would have to fight, he knew. He wasn't entirely sure who would win.

Draven sighed again, surprising Riven by turning his back on her and taking a seat at his side table. He poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle there, and took a long drink. “Konte died. So why are you alive, Riven?” He drew out the last syllable of her name a second longer than necessary, feeling it on his tongue. She said nothing for a moment, so he took another drink.

After a long quiet moment, Riven grit her teeth, responding with a growl. “I live to see your family die. To-” she began, but was interrupted when Draven shattered the glass in his hand, slamming it on the table beside him.

“See? _That_ is why you lost in the ring.” Draven rose to his feet, brushing off the glass and blood from his hand. “You're lying to yourself.” He stepped toward her but she lunged at him once more, but the mustachioed executioner caught her across the face with a backhand. She flinched, but made not a single sound, her whole body tensing with rage. “You're alive because you're too _afraid_ to die. Konte wasn't afraid of death. She _lived_ for it. You don't deserve to wear her face.” He reached out with a scarred, rough hand and grabbed her by the cheeks, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of her mouth. “So tell me. Why does Riven live while Konte had to die?” He let her go with a resigned sigh, turning away from her and walking towards the window. She could effortlessly kick him through it to his death. At this point, would that really be so bad, though? Maybe he'll get to fight Konte again in the afterlife.

“Your blade's by the door, or what's left of it,” he said, not bothering to look back at her. His tone was flat, defeated. “You really want to see me dead, be my guest. You'll die before you get down the hall.” As he heard her footsteps grow closer, he closed his eyes, looking forward to the sharp pain of a knife in his back, maybe of the quick death of a decapitation. He wasn't picky.

What he didn't expect was for Riven to spin him around to face her and punch him so hard in the face he slumped onto the table beside him, shattering the wine bottle as he fell to the floor. A heavy weight pressed on his chest as her fist balled in the front of his shirt, lifting his head out of the growing pool of deep purple liquid.

“I'm not afraid to die,” she said, voice crackling with indignant fury. “I'm alive because I finally have a _reason_ to be.”

Draven laughed, his heart beating faster again. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

She threw Draven's head down against the floor again, rising from his chest and to her full, proud height again. “To atone for my sins. To right every mistake I made while a pawn of your Emperor.”

Draven rubbed his sore jaw, pushing himself up on one elbow. He looked up at her, seeing not Konte, but someone new and altogether different. “Was I a mistake?” He wasn't sure why he asked her that. Perhaps the wine, perhaps the probable concussion. Riven scoffed, but Draven sat up straighter, locking eyes with her. Her brow furrowed, clearly confused by the question, and growing more confused by her lack of an immediate answer.

After a long moment, she replied, voice unsteady and missing the fury he had come to expect. “...No.” Draven was surprised to find he liked that answer. Stumbling to his feet, still unsteady, he met her gaze again and grinned.

“Maybe I need a second chance then,” he said, taking a step towards her. She flinched when he reached toward her, ready to grab him around the neck and choke him to death, but she was surprised to find he cupped her cheek instead. Without preamble, he gently pressed his lips against hers, and she immediately punched him in the stomach. He coughed, stumbling back, , barely managing to catch her knee before it impacted his face. “That's more like it!”

Draven straightened and grabbed her wrist as she took another swing, but she managed a furious body blow that again knocked the wind from his lungs. Recovering quickly, he spun her around and shoulder checked her in the back, sending her stumbling. She spun to face him in a second, and the two of them rushed to meet each other again.

Immediately, both combatants grabbed each other around the head and smashed their lips together, all thought of grace or emotion completely replaced by physicality. Piece by piece, Draven and Riven removed each others clothing, tossing the garments away like trash to a dump. Shoving her roughly against the wall, Draven lifted one of her powerful legs over his hip and pressed into her, groaning as she enveloped him completely in her wet heat. She groaned against his neck, biting him roughly before he grabbed her by the neck, pressing her head against the wall as he rocked his hips into her, faster and faster. Her cracked and unkempt nails dug channels of red into his back, making him groan louder and flinch.

Pushing him off and out of her, she shoved him roughly back and onto his bed, closing the distance and mounting him before he could react. Clamping her hand over his mouth, she slid him inside of her, shuddering at the feeling as she rocked her hips back and forth, her powerful abdomen swirling her hips and squeezing him tight with every movement. With a shuddering groan beneath her hand, he felt his release explode inside of her, his cum dripping out of her as she lifted herself up and off.

Without a word, Draven shoved her down onto her back and climbed over her, trapping her lips in his own as two fingers of his right hand took the place of his cock inside of her. He may need a moment's rest, but she wouldn't get so lucky. Riven's back arched beneath him, her teeth biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, her body shivering and toes curling as her climax bursts into his hand. She manages a shaky breath as their lips part, but the moment wasn't to last. He was ready to go again. With a shuddering groan, he fills her again, Riven's teeth latching hard onto his shoulder and nails cutting deep once more as she moaned loud.

Before long, Riven found herself on her stomach, teeth biting holes in the pillow beneath her as Draven's wild thrusts drove her against it again and again. He groaned loud, hot liquid spurting over her back. Taking command again for the third round, she settled herself in his lap, knees up and over his hips, and rolled her hips over and on top of him as he busied himself with her voluptuous breasts. After, they lay beside each other, panting, drenched in sweat and cum.

The next few times came and went, and before long, the two warriors were extremely unconscious.

*** * ***

Riven woke up that next morning, her body sore from more than just the fights. New bite marks throbbed on her skin, scratches and bruises ached, and light shone down on her through a tear in the thick curtains beside her. She glanced over at the snoring, tattooed man beside her, harsh lines crisscrossing his back, cutting into his flesh here and there. She gazed at him for a long moment, but he didn't wake.

Sliding slowly out of bed, careful not to exacerbate her injuries any more than necessary, she dressed in silence, heading to the door and taking hold of the handle. She hesitated a moment, glancing at her ruined sword's corpse propped by the door. Making up her mind, she reached for it, but a single ringknife struck the wall beside it, the blade between the first knuckles of her index and middle finger, the metal cold against her skin. She glanced at the bed, where Draven had sat up, locking eyes with her.

“I could have you put to death for striking me, Riven,” he said quietly, smirking wide.

After a moment's breath, Riven replied, “I'll kill anyone you send to do it.”

Draven's smile grew. “I never send anyone to have my fun for me.” It could have been the glint of the morning sun, but he could have sworn he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Riven turned to leave, but Draven called out to stop her.

“Riven,” he started, smiling as she glanced back at him. “Take a left. Fewer guards. You can escape the lower levels through the sewers.” Without another word, she stepped through the door and was gone, the heavy door sliding shut silently behind her.

Draven lay back in his destroyed bed, looking up at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head. “Riven, huh?”

_Riven._

The End


End file.
